Harry Potter and the Memory Palace (I: The Escape)
by Catherine Cook
Summary: Harry returns to the Dursleys after the events of GoF, and encounters a mysterious duo who will change his life forever. (G, with some PG stretches in later chapters.)
1. The Trip to Harley Street

Note: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling, except for Dr. Reader and Miss Stellanova, both of whom are, under other names, the creations of Thomas Harris. I've edited this story, to make Harry's motivations much clearer.)   
  
  
Uncle Vernon was acting rather strangely that day.  
  
Truth be told, he'd been acting strangely ever since he picked Harry up from King's Cross earlier that week. His fear of Harry had been replaced by a certain fierce smugness, which caused him to lock Harry up in the cupboard most of the time. This didn't inconvenience Harry as much as it could have, since Harry had long ago learned the Muggle method of lock-picking from Fred and George Weasley. What really bothered Harry about it was the fact that Uncle Vernon dared to do it at all.   
  
Vernon Dursley was by nature an officious bully, which meant that depending upon who you were, he was either at your feet or at your throat. He never would feel this secure about treating Harry this way unless he was absolutely dead certain sure that Harry was powerless to resist him. Harry had the sickening feeling that Uncle Vernon had plotted a way to get him out of the way, legally and safely, once and for all. He had managed, very carefully and at night, to use Hedwig to send messages to both Sirius and Hermione, telling them of his fears, and also warning them to inform Dumbledore that he might be forced to use magic to defend himself.   
  
Worst of all, Harry's scar was hurting him again, almost on a daily basis now. He knew what that meant.   
  
He wasn't sure which was worse: Life with the Dursleys, or constantly dreading the attack from Voldemort -- the returned, newly regenerated Voldemort -- that he knew was coming.   
  
That morning, the scar was particularly painful, so much so that Harry actually winced in the Dursleys' presence, something he usually tried very hard not to do.   
  
"Your head wound, is it, Harry?" purred Uncle Vernon at breakfast over his paper, attempting to sound solicitous. Harry could hear both Aunt Petunia and Dudley suddenly suck in their breaths. "You know, you really should have a doctor give you something for it."  
  
"It's nothing, really, Uncle Vernon --"  
  
"No, no, I insist," said Dursley, setting down the paper. His eyes shone with malicious glee. "Come with me, I was planning to go to London anyway today. We'll take you to a Harley Street specialist I know. This fits into my plans just perfectly."  
  
Harry trudged listlessly behind Uncle Vernon as they left the house. After all the holiday rulebreaking he'd done in his four Hogwarts terms, and what with the way Cornelius Fudge now felt about him for contradicting Fudge's belief that Voldemort was dead, he knew better than to resist Uncle Vernon magically without express permission from Dumbledore to do so -- and neither Sirius nor Hermione had apparently been able to reach him yet. Fudge would love nothing better than an excuse to put Harry in Azkaban. Or St. Mungo's. Harry wasn't sure which would be worse. At the very, very least, he'd be kicked out of Hogwarts forever: Fudge would force Dumbledore to expel him.  
  
But then again, it might well be preferable to whatever Uncle Vernon had in store for him.  
  
  
  
Uncle Vernon said nothing on the drive to London. Harry knew better than to try to talk to him. Besides, his empty stomach was making noise enough for the two of them.  
  
Sitting in the back of the car, Harry tried to puzzle out just what Uncle Vernon might be up to. Prison? Psychiatric ward? Some combination of the two? Probably. Almost certainly, he decided.  
  
Well, if that's the case, he thought, I might as well save my strength and be ready to resist him magically. No sense wasting energy. And with that, he calmed himself down and convinced himself to take a cat nap, much to Dursley's barely-suppressed anger.   
  
  
  
Harry woke up just as they were entering Middlesex and the outer suburbs.   
  
Apprehensive as he was, he wasn't so scared that the sights of London didn't fail to mesmerize him; during the summer months, the Dursleys never let him so much as stray a foot outside of number four Privet Drive if they could manage it, so the city was a grand and wonderful mystery to him.   
  
They traveled into Marylebone, going up to Baker Street -- Harry remembered that as the street where Sherlock Holmes was said to have lived -- then down Baker Street to Paddington Street, at which point Uncle Vernon must have realized he had got lost somehow, since he grumpily backtracked to Baker Street and continued down to Wigmore Street, turning east on Wigmore until he at last found the street he wanted.  
  
Uncle Vernon pulled the car up in front of a respectable-looking Georgian facade on Harley Street. Dursley got out, motioned Harry to follow. On the door was a brass plaque that read: Marcus Reader, M.D.   
  
Harry's heart sank. His worst fears were confirmed.   
  
He started going over the spells he would need to use in order to escape this trap. But he knew that he couldn't make a break for it out in the open, not with so many witnesses who'd need Obliviating. If only he'd had his wand -- but he didn't, because Uncle Vernon had locked it in his school trunk. He'd have to wait until they were inside, and Uncle Vernon was distracted, and hope for the best.  
  
"Here we are," said Uncle Vernon in a falsely casual voice, and rang the doorbell.   
  
A sudden click, then a female voice sounded from the intercom box on the door-jamb. "One moment, please." Then the humming sound and snick of an electronic door-lock being turned off. "Please come in."  
  
The anteroom was bright and cheery, painted in pastel shades of orange with white accents. Dr. Reader apparently specialized in treating children, for there were numerous stuffed animals and other toys stored neatly in a wooden bin, and children's magazines were stacked with equal neatness in a matching wooden rack next to a nicely overstuffed sofa. A short, extremely attractive woman with confident blue eyes and honey-blond hair stood up from behind a desk. The dress and matching jacket she wore looked to be made out of silk, in just the right shade of blue to match her eyes. She took in Harry and Uncle Vernon in one brief glance, then smiled.  
  
"Good morning, Mr. Dursley. Dr. Reader is ready and waiting for you." Her accent was odd; Harry thought she must be American. She turned to smile at Harry. "You must be Harry Potter, Mr. Dursley's nephew. My name is Miss Stellanova, and I'm Dr. Reader's assistant."  
  
Somehow it was hard to be afraid when Miss Stellanova was smiling at you. "Good morning, Miss Stellanova," said Harry. He didn't like the thought of having to hex her.  
  
"Enough of that, Harry," Uncle Vernon said crossly. Then, turning to Miss Stellanova, he motioned towards Dr. Reader's office door. "I don't have all day, now. Let us see the doctor."   
  
"Certainly, Mr. Dursley. Come this way." Miss Stellanova's smile was undimmed as she led them into Dr. Reader's office. Good for her, Harry thought. She doesn't let him get to her. Maybe... But he shut off that train of thought. There was no hope for him right now, save in a magical escape.  
  
The first thing Harry noticed was that the office was dark and softly, yet brightly lit. Dr. Reader rose from his desk, his hands filled with books and other materials; Harry guessed that he did so as a way to avoid having to shake hands with Uncle Vernon. His dark sleek hair was combed back from his forehead, much the way Harry saw it in Muggle movies featuring French or Italian characters. His suit coat was dark and quietly, yet elegantly, tailored. Instead of a tie, he wore a black turtleneck under the suit coat.  
  
Dr. Reader was as short for a man as Miss Stellanova was for a woman, but like Miss Stellanova, he had a way of holding himself so that he seemed taller. Like Miss Stellanova, he also gave off the impression of hidden, wiry strength. Unlike Miss Stellanova, he was a forbidding, distant figure, and Harry's dread strengthed.   
  
"Good morning, Mr. Dursley," Dr. Reader said in a soft voice. Dr. Reader did not need to shout to command his audience's full attention. Uncle Vernon gave him a curt nod in reply. Dr. Reader then turned to face Harry, and Harry could have sworn he saw Dr. Reader's eyes glow redly, like an animal's, as he met Harry's gaze.  
  
"Good morning, Mr. Potter," said the doctor in that same soft voice.  
  
"Good morning, Dr. Reader," replied Harry in kind, and saw a slight gleam flash in the doctor's eyes by way of response.  
  
Dr. Reader motioned for his guests to sit, sitting down at his desk as he did so. He steepled his fingertips together, pressing them against his chin, as he addressed Uncle Vernon: "So what seems to be the trouble, Mr. Dursley?"  
  
Uncle Vernon smiled evilly, and Harry, with a queasy feeling in his empty stomach, knew what his uncle was about to say:  
  
"The trouble, dear Doctor Reader, is that Harry here is as mad as a hatter and needs to committed."  
  
Dr. Reader's face registered nothing. "Hmmmm," he murmured quietly, his eyes never leaving Vernon Dursley's face.  
  
"And if you don't commit him," continued Uncle Vernon nastily, "I'll go round to the authorities and tell everyone who you really are."  
  
Harry glanced swiftly at Dr. Reader. Blackmail, he thought. So that's why he's so sure he can get this doctor to put me away.   
  
Dr. Reader, however, didn't show any signs of having been alarmed at Uncle Vernon's threat. "And why do you say that Harry Potter is mad, Mr. Dursley?" he asked calmly.  
  
"Because he believes in magic, that's why," retorted Uncle Vernon. "Ever since he got this forehead injury as a baby. Thinks he can fly through the air on broomsticks and rubbish like that. He pretends for during the better part of the year that he goes to this imaginary school for wizards called Hogwarts, even spends half his time doing make-believe 'homework' from the place. Here's an example of what he does," he said, pulling out from his briefcase a half-finished essay for Harry's History of Magic class and waving it triumphantly around. "Of course, when he's actually called upon to do that magic, he can't -- "   
  
"That's a lie!" shouted Harry hotly, rising from his chair. "The only reason I don't do magic around the house is that we're not allowed to perform it over the school holidays --"   
  
"SHUT UP, BOY!" roared Uncle Vernon, and moved to hit Harry on the jaw.   
  
But his fist never quite made it.   
  
Dr. Reader, moving with speed Harry had never before seen in a Muggle, had risen from his desk and intercepted Vernon Dursley's hand, holding it in place as firmly as if it belonged to an especially weak toddler.   
  
After a few seconds, Uncle Vernon realized he was beaten. He let his arms drop to his sides, glaring murderously at the doctor.   
  
"I'm going to leave you two for a bit, Reader," he snarled. "Don't you forget our agreement. I can ruin you!" And with that, he spun on his heel and stormed out of Dr. Reader's office, slamming the door as he went.   
  
Dr. Reader chuckled softly. "Your Uncle Vernon is a very angry man, isn't he, Harry?" He sat back down behind his desk. "Excuse me a moment." He paged Miss Stellanova on the phone and gave her some brief instructions in what sounded like Italian, then replaced the handset. "However, he overestimates his own abilities."   
  
The doctor swiveled to face Harry, who had reclaimed the essay Uncle Vernon had left behind in his rage. "So, Harry. Do you believe in magic?"   
  
"Yes, Doctor." It was too late to deny it anyway.  
  
"Yet your uncle says that you cannot perform any magic when called upon to do so?"   
  
"We're not allowed to do magic at home, sir. School rules expressly forbid it during the holidays. And even if I could, Uncle Vernon keeps my wand and all my school supplies locked in a trunk."  
  
"I see." The doctor's tone was unchanged; Harry couldn't tell if the doctor believed him or not. "Can you still perform magic, even without your wand and other supplies?"   
  
Harry thought hard for a moment. The situation was suddenly changing.  
  
"I could, but I'd probably get expelled from Hogwarts if I did, Doctor. They don't like us to use magic at all when we're in the Muggle world."   
  
"The Muggle world? Is that the term used by magicians for the non-magical world?"   
  
"Yes, sir."   
  
Dr. Reader sat in silence for a moment. Then he leaned forward and said, "Harry, I give you special dispensation to attempt an act of magic in my presence. If anyone from your school comes to punish you, I will speak with them on your behalf."   
  
Harry stared in astonishment at the doctor. "Are you sure, Dr. Reader? They're very strict about this sort of thing."  
  
The doctor smiled. "I'm quite sure, Harry. Now, perform for me a simple spell, if you could."  
  
Harry thought for a moment, then pointed at a paperweight on the doctor's desk. "Wingardium Leviosa!", he shouted concentrating with all his might.   
  
The paperweight rose slowly into the air.   
  
Harry then performed the counter-charm, and the paperweight settled slowly back onto the desk, landing with a soft thump.   
  
Dr. Reader was silent for a moment. A very long moment.  
  
Then he said, "Harry, would you like to be shot of the Dursleys forever?"  
  
Harry could hardly contain himself. Dr. Reader was going to help him! "Would I?! Yes, definitely!"  
  
"Have you ever been in an XJR Jaguar supercharged sedan moving at one hundred and fifty kilometers an hour on city streets?"   
  
"No, sir," replied Harry, in a voice shaky with relief.  
  
"That's about to change. We're going to get back to your uncle's house before him and get your magical things before he can get to them." He paged Miss Stellanova once more on the intercom, gave her a brief message in that language Harry guessed was Italian, then turned back to Harry, his hand extended.  
  
"Come with me, Harry."  
  
He rose swiftly to his feet, Harry following behind, as he led Harry out the back way, into an alley where Dr. Reader's car was waiting. 


	2. Dr Reader's Decision

**_  
_**  
Dr. Reader was true to his word. Harry's heart raced as he felt the steady, calico-ripping thrum of the electric-blue Jaguar as it sped through the streets of London, occasionally hopping the odd curb when Dr. Reader felt it advisable. Harry doubted that even the Hogwarts Express could move this fast, and once Dr. Reader got out of London proper and onto the highway, he drove even faster still. It almost felt like flying on his Firebolt, except the Firebolt didn't rumble like rolling thunder.   
  
During the drive, Dr. Reader asked Harry questions about Hogwarts and his life there. Harry, much to his own surprise, responded freely and volubly; in for a Knut, in for a Galleon, he decided.   
  
It felt good to at last find a Muggle who didn't fear or hate magic, and Dr. Reader had a way of drawing out even the most reserved or suspicious persons. Dr. Reader was very interested in what Harry had to tell him. The idea that there was an entire culture of humans, co-existing with yet seldom interacting with the mass of humanity, would intrigue any intelligent person, whether or not they actually believed it. Yet Dr. Reader never once expressed disbelief or disapproval, even when Harry told him of things that even the most sympathetic Muggle would be hard put to understand, much less believe. He was fascinated by the Hogwarts faculty, especially the Headmaster.  
  
"Albus Dumbledore, eh?", Dr. Reader chuckled softly. "I'd like to meet him. Is there any way I could accompany you to Hogwarts, Harry?"   
  
"I don't know, sir. I don't think so. It's impossible for Muggles even to find Hogwarts, it's been made unplottable on Muggle maps. Any Muggle who passes by sees nothing but an old ruined building."   
  
"I see." Dr. Reader was silent for a moment. "Is there any way we could get word to Headmaster Dumbledore?"   
  
"Witches and wizards use owls to send messages to each other, Dr. Reader. Once we get to Privet Drive, I could write a message to him and send it with Hedwig, my owl. She'll know how to find him."   
  
"Ah. Owls as messengers. I take it the Ministry of Magic frowns on most post-Industrial-Revolution Muggle inventions?"   
  
"Yes, sir."   
  
They drove in silence for a time. Harry watched the amazed stares of the lorry drivers as Dr. Reader overtook them with ease; the Jaguar thrummed and purred happily, like a big cat getting some long-delayed play time. Harry was enjoying himself immensely, except for one thing --   
  
"Dr. Reader, may I ask you a question?"   
  
The doctor smiled slightly. "Anything you like, Harry."   
  
"Do you have a plan for getting my things out of the house? Even if we get there before Uncle Vernon does, Aunt Petunia or Dudley, or both, will be there. And I can't do a Memory Charm on them to make them forget everything, or the Ministry will find out about it."   
  
"Don't worry about that, Harry. I'll go up to the front door and deal with your aunt and cousin. You just stay out of sight in the car until I give you the signal. I promise you, we'll get Hedwig and the rest of your things out of the house without using a single spell." Dr. Reader punched a button on the dashboard of the Jaguar. Harry heard the sound of a telephone dialing, then ringing; then he heard Miss Stellanova's voice. "Yes, Doctor?"   
  
"Lucy, has Mr. Dursley left yet?"   
  
Miss Stellanova sounded amused. "He left ten minutes ago, madder than a wet hen. He kept threatening all sorts of things against you."   
  
"I'm not surprised. Lucy, close the office for today. I'll meet you at home in a few hours. Supper for three; Harry Potter is going to be our guest tonight."   
  
"Supper for three it is, Doctor. Good morning, again, Harry. I'm looking forward to seeing you tonight. Goodbye for now." There was a click as Miss Stellanova hung up the phone.   
  
They were fast approaching Privet Drive. Harry crouched down low so that no one could see him from outside of the car. Dr. Reader swung the car in front of the Dursleys' house with the grace of Cho Chang diving after a Snitch. He turned off the engine, then placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'll be back in ten minutes or less, Harry," he said. And with that, he swiftly exited the car.   
  
Harry, crouched down low as he was, couldn't see what was happening. He heard Dr. Reader's quick, light footsteps on the path. He heard the doorbell ring, heard Aunt Petunia say "We don't want any --" followed by a loud thump, then silence. After some minutes, Dr. Reader came and tapped on the passenger window with a thick leather sap; Harry got out of the car and followed Dr. Reader into the house.   
  
Aunt Petunia and Dudley were stretched out on the floor of the lounge, unconscious. It was a beautiful sight to Harry's eyes.   
  
"They'll be that way for a good twenty minutes, Harry," said Dr. Reader, holding the sap in his hand. "Will that be long enough to remove everything?"   
  
"It certainly will," replied Harry. "Follow me, Doctor."   
  
And so it was that half an hour later, a furious Vernon Dursley returned to Number Four, Privet Drive, to find his wife and son groggily sitting on the lounge floor, nursing rather large bruises on the backs of their heads. Harry's magical gear, including his owl, was missing. And, most distressingly for Uncle Vernon, his blackmail dossier on Marcus Reader was missing as well.   
  
"I'LL GET YOU FOR THIS, HARRY POTTER, YOU MISERABLE LITTLE GIT!" Uncle Vernon howled in a voice that caused both Aunt Petunia and Dudley to wince. "I'LL GET YOU!"   
  
At the same moment Vernon Dursley was fruitlessly screaming his lungs out, the object of his rage was sitting in the front passenger seat of Dr. Marcus Reader's electric-blue Jaguar, heading back at 200 kilometers per hour towards London, busily composing a note to Albus Dumbledore. Hedwig hooted contentedly in the back seat, her cage secured with a seat belt.   
  
Harry strove to explain to Dumbledore how the Dursleys had tried to have Dr. Reader declare him insane, only to see Dr. Reader come to his defense and take him from the Dursleys' clutches. In return, would it be possible, Harry asked, to allow Dr. Reader and his assistant Miss Stellanova (for Harry sensed that the good doctor would go nowhere unless Miss Stellanova could accompany him) to visit Hogwarts?   
  
Dr. Reader pulled the Jaguar over to the side of the road so Harry could attach the note to Hedwig and set her free without injuring her in the Jaguar's slipstream. Hedwig hooted demurely at the doctor, gently nibbled at Harry's ear, then set off towards Hogwarts, gracefully rising into the air. Dr. Reader watched her flight for as long as he could see her.   
  
"Hedwig is a beautiful animal, Harry," the doctor said, getting back into the car. "You're very lucky to have her."   
  
"I know," said Harry, climbing back into the passenger seat. "She's family to me, about the only real family I have left."   
  
"Not counting the Dursleys, of course?" The doctor turned the key, and the Jaguar purred to life.   
  
"I never count the Dursleys as my family," replied Harry bitterly as he fastened his seat belt.   
  
Dr. Reader smiled as he pulled the car back onto the road. "I can see why not," he replied. "How did you come to be in what we shall loosely term their 'care'?"   
  
Harry's throat swelled up as thoughts of his mother and father filled his mind. "It's a long story," he said thickly.   
  
The miles sped by as Dr. Reader listened to Harry tell his life's story. The doctor did not interrupt once, except to gently encourage Harry to continue whenever he faltered at recounting some painful event. As before, he did not express disbelief or disapproval, no matter how unusual Harry's tale must have sounded to his Muggle ears.   
  
Dr. Reader was silent for a long time after Harry finished. Finally, he said, "So you are an orphan, Harry. So am I. So is Miss Stellanova, as a matter of fact." With his free hand, he brushed Harry's hair away from his forehead, exposing the scar. "You are also a warrior, Harry. You can be as strong as you want to be. This scar proves it. I am a warrior, too, as is Miss Stellanova." He let Harry's bangs fall back over his forehead. "Let's stop somewhere for lunch. After that, I'm going to take you to the City of London itself, to see if I can have you legally made my ward. We can be orphans and warriors together. How would you like that?"   
  
  
  
  



	3. Shedding the Old Skin

  
  
Harry found himself staring openmouthed at the doctor. "Dr. Reader! I'm -- I'm sure I'd like it -- love it, in fact -- anything to be away from the Dursleys. But... you don't even know me, Doctor!"  
  
Dr. Reader smiled as they shot past an MG. "I know enough about you to know that you are a very remarkable young man, Harry. We can't let you go back to the Dursleys, my little acts of battery aside -- they'll just find another, more pliant specialist, and you'll be heaved into an insane asylum, which is the _last _place you should be. For the time being, you should stay with us. If I can't become your permanent guardian and school-holiday host, I can at the very least arrange it so that the Dursleys will have no claim on you." Dr. Reader downshifted, as they were approaching the fashionably expensive suburb of St. John's Wood. "I have significantly more friends in high places than does Vernon Dursley."   
  
Harry was speechless. In the space of a few hours, he had gone from being marked for the loony bin to being the guest, and probably the ward, of a man who Harry already firmly believed had to be one of the wisest and most cultured Muggles in existence. It was already almost impossible to think of him as even being a Muggle. Certainly no Muggle possessed such red-lit eyes, eyes that seemed to see through you and around you.  
  
A slight doubt nagged at him: What about that blackmail dossier? What if Dr. Reader was into drugs, or other kinds of crime?   
  
Harry studied the doctor's calmly cheerful face, looking for clues. No, he decided, Dr. Reader did not use illegal drugs, nor did he buy or sell them. And he didn't seem like the type to molest children; from what he saw of the occasional person, Muggle or wizard, arrested for molestation, they were either pathetic wretches who couldn't approach adult men or women, or they were power-hungry beings looking to fill an emptiness inside them by seeking to control and use the vulnerable. Dr. Reader seemed to fit neither criterion.   
  
Harry decided to hazard a test, which he passed off as a lighthearted joke: "I'll go with you, Dr. Reader, just so long as you're not a criminal or an ax murderer.", he smilingly chaffed.  
  
Dr. Reader nearly laughed out loud as he steered the Jaguar into the car park of a what looked to be a very elegant restaurant. "No, Harry, I am not an _ax _murderer. I prefer to use the Spyderco Harpy whenever possible. You must be wondering about the contents of Dursley's dirt file on me."  
  
Harry turned a deep crimson. Dr. Reader could rival Dumbledore himself in terms of perception, he thought. "Well - erm - I _was_ wondering how someone like you came to be associated with someone like him. But I understand," Harry hastily made to add, "If it's something you'd rather not talk about."  
  
"As a matter of fact, it is," said Dr. Reader lightly as he pulled the car to a stop. "But I will assure you of this, Harry Potter," he said, turning off the ignition and turning to face Harry. "My word is my bond. And you need never fear that I might harm you, ever. I promise you that."  
  
The glint of those redly gleaming eyes unnerved Harry, but something in the doctor's tone told him that he meant every word he said.  
  
Dr. Reader smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder. "Come along, Harry. You must be starving. I know I am."  
  
And with that, they exited the car and entered the restaurant.  
  
Harry had never before been in a Muggle restaurant this fancy, and felt terribly underdressed for the occasion. He tried to act naturally as he could next to the suavely-dressed Dr. Reader, but he still felt the stares of several upper-crust patrons as the maître d' seated them.   
  
Dr. Reader recommended the roasted quail with a side of fresh peas, which he also ordered for himself, along with a wine whose name Harry could never in a million years pronounce but which was utterly delicious. Harry didn't want to think about how much this meal was costing Dr. Reader. Probably more than what the Dursleys would spend on feeding him all year, he decided.  
  
The table talk didn't concern the strategy for legally extricating him from the Dursleys -- Dr. Reader seemed to think that was a foregone conclusion -- but instead revolved around Harry's life while on vacation, and such things as making sure he had the materials necessary to finish his summer schoolwork assignments. It turned out that Dr. Reader was himself an avid amateur astronomer, and had a small observatory on his property; Harry would be able to turn in a first-class essay to Professor Sinistra this year. In addition, Dr. Reader, by virtue of his professional and academic standing, had Internet access to the world's great libraries, so Harry could look up information online; most of his studies would likely not be found in Muggle libraries, but certain subjects, such as astronomy and herbology and even potionmaking, had aspects with which Muggle scholars were well-versed.   
  
After the meal, they visited a few of Dr. Reader's friends in the City of London. A few discreet words were exchanged, and it didn't take very long at all for the legal guardianship of Harry to be transferred over to Dr. Reader, with Mrs. Figg to be set up as an alternate in case Dr. Reader and Miss Stellanova were incapacitated. Harry's awe of Dr. Reader grew even further.   
  
Having finished with legally snatching Harry from the Dursleys, Dr. Reader then took Harry over to Bond Street, where they spent a number of hours getting Harry all manner of very smart outfits. In one shop, Harry stood and looked at his reflection while the shop owner fussed over the fit of his tuxedo, and was astonished to see a tall, dignified, handsome young man looking back at him. If only Cho Chang could see me now, he thought.  
  
Dr. Reader insisted that he wear some of his new clothes immediately, so Harry selected a dark turtleneck with summerweight tan slacks and jacket. His grotty old Dursley clothes were tucked into a bag, to be ceremonially burned once they got home to Dr. Reader's place.  
  
Around five o'clock they set off towards the outskirts of St. John's Wood. "I think you'll like it at our place, Harry," Dr. Reader said as the Jaguar thrummed happily through the tree-lined streets. "I think we'll both learn a lot, you and I."  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. The End of a Perfect Day

Reader and Stellanova lived in a lovely old renovated marble-front home with a sizeable bit of land in the back. Lucy greeted them at the door herself, their housekeeper being busy cooking the evening meal.  
  
"Welcome to Offhand Manor, Harry!", Lucy said, giving Harry a friendly hug. "My, you look spiffy! Has Dr. Reader taken you shopping?" she asked as she studied his new clothing, her blue eyes dancing in amusement. She had changed into formal evening wear, a gorgeous coral gown with a narrow yet plunging neckline. Harry had to force himself to look at her eyes, and only at her eyes, for the sake of his untried adolescent self-control.  
  
"He certainly did," replied Harry, grinning embarrassedly. "And that's not all."  
  
"Lucy, things at the Dursley household were worse than even we suspected," said Dr. Reader as they went inside into a dark-panelled, high-ceilinged foyer. "They were, in fact, so bad that I took it upon myself to extricate Harry from the situation."  
  
"What did you do now, Marcus?" Lucy said, with equal parts exasperation and good humor.  
  
"I made him our ward for the time being, dear heart. It was either that or let the Dursleys put him in the Hotel De Silly for life."  
  
Lucy stared disbelievingly at him as she and Harry followed Reader onwards into the oak-panelled, book-filled study. "I don't believe it," she said at last. "Could even Vernon and Petunia Dursley be so stupid and evil at the same time?"  
  
"Indeed they could, my love, " replied Dr. Reader. "And would have, had I not intervened. They were hell-bent on getting him committed, through me or through anyone they thought they could bend to their will. Instead, their little trap backfired. Not only is Young Master Potter now out of their clutches, so, my dear, are we."  
  
The evening sunlight, streaming through the tall study windows, framed Lucy and further burnished her already-golden beauty. "Oh, how wonderful! Tell me everything," she said, clapping her hands together. Suddenly, her face darkened. "I certainly hope you didn't do anything outré, Marcus."  
  
Reader leaned over to kiss her full on the lips. "Not at all, darling. Nothing that Vernon Dursley can trace to me. And the guardianship is all perfectly legal," he said, pulling out a sheaf of documents from his briefcase and handing them to her.   
  
Lucy read the legal papers, then looked at Harry, her face aglow. Then she suddenly took Harry in her arms again, much to his chagrin, and spun him around the room three times. "Welcome to Offhand Manor, Harry! You'll love it here!"  
  
Dr. Reader chuckled and cuffed Harry on the shoulder. "Come on, lad, and let's get those garment bags out of the car. Your evening clothes are in one of them. You and I will both need to change clothes for dinner."  
  
  
  
  
Dinner at Dr. Reader's passed in a haze for Harry. He still couldn't believe what was happening to him. It had all happened so very, very fast.   
  
Barely eight hours earlier, he was shouting at Uncle Vernon in Reader's office, fighting an empty stomach whilst wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs; now, he was attired in white tie, sitting in a spacious chandeliered dining room eating the most delicious meal he had ever had, living with the most fascinating Muggles he could ever imagine, and freed of the Dursleys forever.   
  
Dr. Reader had put Harry's things upstairs in a large guest bedroom for the nonce, then helped Harry with the evening wear. The shirt and vest fit him like a second skin, and the white tie itself wasn't as difficult as it looked; Harry knotted it properly on the third try.   
  
Then it was downstairs again to the study for the "pre-prandial refreshment", as Dr. Reader called it. Harry had never had Lillet before; it tasted like liquid honeyed velvet and felt fresh like springtime. He held himself to one glass, with Dr. Reader's silent approval, as they discussed his future at "Offhand Manor".  
  
"Will Hedwig be able to find you?", asked Dr. Reader, sipping his own glass of Lillet as he and Harry sat in the large red leather chairs of the study.  
  
"Oh, yes. I reckon Dumbledore will figure out where I am rather easily, he has before. This isn't the first time I've had to leave Privet Drive in a hurry."  
  
"It will be the last time you ever have to do so, Harry," replied Dr. Reader. "I promise you that."  
  
Dinner was Boeuf Roti a la Vielle Anglaise, Dr. Reader's own twist on "Roast Beef of Old England". And what a twist it was!   
  
Aunt Petunia's roast beef was dry and tough. The Hogwarts version was much better, but still not his favorite dish. But this... this was so scrumptious Harry made himself eat it slowly, the better to savor every bite. Plus, he wasn't used to eating very much while on summer vacation -- the Dursleys tended to half-starve him much of the time -- and he'd already eaten one very rich meal that day. Best to let his stomach have a chance to adjust.  
  
Dr. Reader and Lucy told Harry a little about themselves. As he had guessed, they were not originally from England; Dr. Reader was born in Lithuania, but spent most of his adult life in America, where he changed his name from the original Slavic version to something most Americans could pronounce. Lucy, on the other hand, was a Kentucky girl; she was born and raised in America's southern mountains, living there nearly her whole life until meeting up with Dr. Reader in Baltimore some years ago.  
  
"She's the best thing that ever happened to me, Harry," Reader said as Lucy blushed prettily. "I was a wild man back in the day. She took me and straightened me out but good, as she might say if she were still in Kentucky." Lucy's response was to stick out her tongue at Dr. Reader, which made Harry laugh uncontrollably.  
  
After dinner, the three of them went upstairs to figure out where Harry should sleep. They decided on the very room into which Dr. Reader had initially moved his things: a large, airy room with a capacious closet, a very large chest of drawers, and a king-sized bed, big enough for Harry to sprawl on surrounded by his school books.   
  
Both Dr. Reader and Lucy were fascinated by Harry's personal effects, especially his Firebolt.  
  
"I wonder if Muggles can ride broomsticks, or if you have to be a witch to do so," said Dr. Reader, admiring the beautiful broom.  
  
"I don't know," said Harry, stifling a yawn; it had been a long and eventful day. "I've never seen a Muggle try it."  
  
"We'll give it a try tomorrow, Harry," replied Dr. Reader. "It's time for you to go to bed. Goodnight, Harry."   
  
"Goodnight, Doctor. Goodnight, Lucy."  
  
The doctor and Lucy left the room.   
  
  



	5. Come Saturday Morning

Back at Privet Drive, Vernon Dursley paced back and forth in the lounge, wavering between anger and fear. He was so tense that he even snapped at his beloved Dudley, something he never did, when Dudley prattled on too long at the dinner table about the latest child he beat up at school.   
  
He was angry that Harry -- apparently with Reader's connivance -- had escaped him. He was angry that his folder on Reader had gone missing. And he was afraid, deeply and thoroughly afraid, that Harry and Reader were not only working together, but that they would, together, come back to Privet Drive and inflict far worse injury. Assuming, of course, that Harry Potter had not already been added to Dr. Reader's extensive list of victims.   
  
He smiled inwardly at this thought, but it was a smile tinged with anxiety: He hadn't told Petunia of Reader's true identity, lest she take exception to having anything to do with the man. Truthfully, Vernon Dursley himself wasn't all that keen on tangling with Reader, but he felt that if he was going to keep up his own self-image as a Big Wheel, a Force To Be Reckoned With, he had to steel himself to do something bold and ruthless, and the idea of having the whip hand over someone as dangerous and brilliant as Reader was intoxicating.   
  
Until Reader, with Harry's help, snatched the whip out of his hand.  
  
Neither Petunia nor Dudley had gotten a good look at the person who coshed them, and none of the neighbors recalled hearing or seeing any visitors to number four Privet Drive during the day. Vernon never thought to consider whether the neighbors' faulty memory might have anything to do with the fact that the Dursleys were the most hated family in the street. Dursley couldn't very well go to the police, not without proof; and besides, he knew full well that Reader had managed to acquire certain information about Vernon Dursley's business dealings, information that would make life difficult for Dursley, were the police to find out about it.  
  
Dursley discussed all this (all of this, of course, with the exception of Reader's true identity) with his wife later on in the evening, talking furiously in the kitchen when Dudley was safely in his room, absorbed in his PC version of Doom II. The Dursleys were so busy fretting and plotting that they never noticed the large shaggy black dog lying quietly under their kitchen window, apparently asleep among their tiger lilies.  
  
  
  
  
The next day dawned bright and clear at Offhand Manor. Harry awoke, momentarily surprised at not waking up in his cramped cupboard. Then a broad grin spread over his face.   
  
It wasn't just a dream, he realized. I really did break free from the Dursleys. I really am living with people who care for me, and about me.  
  
He walked to the French windows and threw them wide open, just in time to greet Hedwig, freshly arrived from Hogwarts. She hooted softly to him, then flew around his room, inspecting it with a discerning owl gaze, before settling on the edge of his enormous bed.   
  
Harry untied the note from her leg. It read as follows:  
  
_Dear Harry,  
  
I read your message with great interest. I will be calling upon Dr. Reader very soon.  
  
I trust that you are well.  
  
Albus Dumbledore_  
  
Harry studied the note carefully. Dumbledore must be really concerned about him to want to leave Hogwarts right now, he thought. Harry wished he could reassure Dumbledore that he was fine, in fact better than fine, that there was nothing to worry about, so that Dumbledore could go back to preparing to do battle with Voldemort. He hated to waste Dumbledore's time this way.  
  
Oh, well, he decided. Dumbledore must have his reasons. He set down the letter and scratched Hedwig lovingly around the neck. "Let's go downstairs after I get dressed," he told her as she hooted happily. "You can meet Lucy and see Dr. Reader again."  
  



	6. The Most Dangerous Game

Harry quickly showered in the luxurious upstairs bathroom (he had never before seen a Jacuzzi, much less one made of green marble), then picked out the most casual clothes he could; he wasn't about to get his tuxedo all dirty whilst burning the grotty old Dudley clothes. He settled on his new black jeans and polo shirt.   
  
He then made his way downstairs, Hedwig on his shoulder, to the very modern yet homely kitchen, from whence emanated all manner of appetizing smells. Dr. Reader and Lucy, dressed in casual jeans and flannel hiking shirts, had just started in on some omelettes and sausages; Dr. Reader was putting an omelette, fresh from the pan, on Harry's plate. They cheerfully bade Harry good morning, which he returned in kind. Hedwig gave a dignified hoot.   
  
Lucy was much taken with Hedwig. She offered her a bit of sausage, set out on a small plate, with a napkin nearby. Hedwig graciously accepted, daintily nibbling at the sausage one speck at a time.   
  
"Hedwig just returned from Hogwarts with a message from Dumbledore," Harry said as he handed the parchment roll to Dr. Reader. "He plans to call on you, Doctor. I hope you don't mind."  
  
Dr. Reader studied the letter for some time, and not just with his eyes. He ran his fingers sensuously over the parchment, and his nostrils twitched slightly as they caught the scent of parchment and paper. "Interesting -- he's writing with his right hand on this note, but he's obviously ambidextrous," he said offhandedly. The doctor looked up from the letter. If he felt any apprehension, he certainly wasn't showing it. "I don't mind at all, Harry. In fact, I think it's a capital idea." He broke into a grin. "Perhaps we should postpone the Clothes-Burning Ceremony until he arrives. What do you think?"  
  
Harry laughed out loud. "I think he'd find it very funny, Doctor. Dumbledore's got a rather odd sense of humour."  
  
They spent breakfast discussing their plans for the day. Since it was Saturday, the office was closed, though both Dr. Reader and Miss Stellanova carried pagers in case of emergencies. They had the whole day ahead to do what they wanted.  
  
Both Reader and Lucy were eager to see Harry on the Firebolt. Fortunately, the grounds behind Offhand Manor were surrounded by a twenty-foot-high wall; so long as he kept below the top of the wall, Harry could dive and swoop to his heart's content.   
  
Harry explained the rules of Quidditch to Lucy and the doctor, and even demonstrated the starfish-and-stick maneuver. A delighted Reader immediately decided to set up a small makeshift Quidditch pitch, even though he himself was absolutely hopeless on a broom; he couldn't stay on the Firebolt long enough to rise even five feet into the air. But that didn't stop him from trying; his jeans and shirt were soon covered with grass stains. Lucy, on the other hand, was a natural-born flier; she was soon swooping and diving almost as well as Harry himself.  
  
"This is amazing!" she cried, chasing a happy Hedwig, who was playing the part of the Snitch, around the yard. "I've never felt anything like it!" She stopped in mid-air suddenly. "Marcus, Harry -- could it be that... that I might be magical, too?"  
  
A deep, resonant male voice spoke. "Not 'could be', Miss Stellanova. From what I have just seen, you do indeed possess magical talent, and a rather large dose of it, too. Why you never got a letter from an American school is beyond my understanding."  
  
Everyone turned around towards the voice.  
  
It was coming from a very tall, thin, elderly man in purple robes, with a long white beard. His twinkling eyes were hidden behind half-moon glasses. He was standing very near Dr. Reader's small observatory.  
  
"Pardon the intrusion," said the man, smiling softly. "My name is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And I must say that I have never seen anyone do as well on a broom on their very first try -- with the exception of Harry here. Good morning, Harry."  
  
"Good morning, sir," replied Harry.  
  
Lucy abruptly landed at Dr. Reader's side. She was too astonished to speak, so Dr. Reader did the talking for her.  
  
"Good morning, Headmaster Dumbledore. It's a pleasure to meet you."  
  
Dumbledore bowed. "The pleasure is mutual, Dr. Reader. I am most grateful to you and Miss Stellanova for getting Harry out of durance vile with the Dursleys, and keeping him from durance viler in the mental ward."  
  
Dr. Reader smiled broadly. "It was the least I could, Headmaster." He turned towards a now-earthbound Lucy. "There are lots of things I'd like to discuss with you, not the least of which is Lucy's having manifested magical talents. But perhaps we should do it inside, over some refreshment."  
  
"That would suit me down to the ground, Doctor."  
  
And with that, they all entered the house together.  
  
  
Ever the good hosts, Dr. Reader and Lucy led Harry and Dumbledore into the study. Once they were all seated on the wonderfully overstuffed leather chairs therein, Dr. Reader served them the beverages of their choice: ice water for Harry, Oban single-malt scotch for Professor Dumbledore.  
  
Dumbledore's long nose twitched as the Oban's scent found its seductive way inside his nostrils. He sipped the whiskey and smiled. "Utterly delicious, Doctor. It's been a long time since I've allowed myself any single-malt." He leaned forward in his chair, taking in Harry, Reader and Stellanova with one sweeping glance of his lance-like blue eyes. "I suppose you all know why I came here today."  
  
Dr. Reader's gaze was a twin to Dumbledore's in quiet intensity, save that his eyes were not blue. "You want to make sure Harry is living among persons he can trust. I would expect nothing less of you, Headmaster."  
  
"Indeed, Dr. Reader. To that end, I made inquiries of my own in the Muggle world, and found that, in your chosen profession, you have earned a sterling reputation for your work with disturbed children and with adults most authorities in your field deemed untreatable: the severely psychotic, the autistic, the brain-damaged." Dumbledore took another sip of his whiskey and was silent for some time; Harry had the feeling he was waiting for Dr. Reader to say something in response, but neither Reader nor Stellanova seemed inclined to do so.  
  
After a time, Dumbledore resumed speaking. "Your reputation is an interesting one, Dr. Reader. Many of your associates seem to fear you, perhaps partly because of your constant corrections of their myriad misdiagnoses, yet your patients and their loved ones would follow you to the ends of the earth and back. Now that I have met you, I can understand the reasoning behind both sets of reactions." His eyes settled on Stellanova for the briefest of moments, then moved on. "I also understand that Vernon Dursley was trying to use your past against you. But I also know that your past is indeed your past, and I would trust you with my life. We need not speak of it."  
  
There was the briefest of pauses before Dr. Reader replied. "You are a trusting man, Professor."  
  
"You have to trust someone sometime, Doctor," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "But your past is not what concerns me today. Rather, it is your present career about which I must consult you."  
  
"In my professional capacity?"  
  
"Quite so."  
  
"I see." Dr. Reader steepled his fingertips against his chin, just as he done at his Harley Street office the previous day. "You have a patient for me to see?"  
  
Dumbledore nodded, sipping his Oban. "Two of them, actually. A married couple, Frank and Alice Longbottom. They were attacked and magically tortured by Death Eaters, minions of the wizard who gave Harry his scar. The attack left them insane."  
  
Harry gave a start. Dumbledore wanted Dr. Reader to treat Neville's parents!  
  
  
  



	7. Visits and Wardings

(Author's note: All chapters are constantly under revision by Yours Truly. JKR's characters are hers, and Thomas Harris' characters are his; my only contributions are the plot and the alternate names.)  
  
Dr. Reader's gaze was fixed on Professor Dumbledore like a leghold trap on a wolf's paw. Here he was on his home turf. "What are the symptoms? Psychotic or non-psychotic?"  
  
"Psychotic, most definitely. Total divorcement from reality. They don't even recognize their own son when he comes to visit them."  
  
"Not a flat affect, then."  
  
"No, they're quite animated, but totally disorganized."  
  
"Do they have an odd goatish smell about them?"  
  
Dumbledore thought for a moment. "As a matter of fact, they do, they do indeed."  
  
"That's trans-3-methyl-2-hexenoic acid, Headmaster Dumbledore. It's the classical calling card of schizophrenia, exuded in the schizoid's sweat." Reader's eyes glittered vermillion. "Sounds like atypical antipsychotics like olanzapine or quietapine are called for. Have any hypnotic drugs, such as lorazepam, been tried on them?"  
  
"Not to my knowledge."  
  
"Hmmmm. At least no one has had the chance to make things worse. I hate having to clean up after someone else's botched treatment." The doctor let his hands fall from his chin. "When can I examine the Longbottoms?"  
  
"As soon as you like, doctor."  
  
"Very well, then. No time like the present. Give me a minute to gather my tools, and I am your man." Suiting the action to the word, and with lightning speed, Dr. Reader leapt up from his desk and began sorting through the various treatment drugs he kept in his small study refrigerator.  
  
"One moment." Dumbledore got up from his chair. "Harry, you and Miss Stellanova shall remain here for the time being. Show her, if you could, how to cast some simple Warding and Aversion Spells to put around the house and grounds." He looked speculatively at Lucy, then smiled. "It's a stroke of luck for us that you happen to be a witch, Miss Stellanova. It will make it much easier to protect Harry, and yourselves, from Voldemort and his forces. We must craft a course of study for you as soon as possible."   
  
Dumbledore turned back to face Dr. Reader, who had collected a handful of vials, including one containing the antianxiety drug bromazepam, and was now putting them, along with a frozen gel-pack, in a small insulated carrying case. "Are you ready, doctor?" he asked, extending his left hand while he held his wand with the other.  
  
Dr. Reader zipped shut the case. "Lead me where you will, Professor," he said.   
  
"Grasp my left wrist, if you would, doctor... yes, just like that. Don't let go until I give the word." Professor Dumbledore's blue eyes gleamed; the Longbottoms were good friends of his. "Goodbye for now," he said to Lucy and Harry. "I promise to bring him back to you in one piece, Miss Stellanova." He raised the wand, said "_Teleportio!_" and both he and the doctor disappeared in a flash of silver.   
  
Lucy gazed silently for a full minute at the spot where they had been.   
  
Suddenly, her chin lifted, as if she had heard a faint noise from far away and was straining to interpret it. After a moment, her face cleared, as if she had received the desired answer. Turning to Harry, she said warmly, "They'll be back here by suppertime, unless Marcus gets tempted to puzzle out some magical distraction Dumbledore gives him. Let's get to work on pounding those spells into my head."  
  
  
  
Lucy turned out to be a very quick study, rather like an adult version of Hermione. Harry only had to explain each spell to her once before she had it down cold. Furthermore, she understood, without him having to tell her, exactly where and why each of the spells had to be placed. They had the whole of Offhand Manor magically warded in less than an hour.  
  
"We'll have to renew the spells at least once a week, preferably twice," Harry said as they rode the Firebolt, under cover of his invisibility cloak, down from the top of the cupola, wherein they had placed a particularly strong series of W&As to keep out aerial assaults.   
  
"Good," replied Lucy, who was seated behind Harry, holding onto him tightly enough to make feel both very good and very guilty at the same time. "It'll be good practice for both of us. You won't have any wand rust when September rolls around, that's for sure."   
  
"'Wand rust'?!" laughed Harry as they touched down onto the ground. "'Wand rust'?! I like that. I'm trying to imagine a wand all rusty from disuse. Though cobwebs would be more like it in my case, I think, back at Privet Drive in that ratty old cupboard."  
  
Lucy dismounted with a slight giggle. "Speaking of wands -- how did you get yours, Harry? Did you make it, or buy it?"  
  
"Bought it, over at Ollivander's in Diagon Alley. It cost me seven Galleons."  
  
"Galleons? How much is that in Muggle money?" said Lucy as they walked through the back door and into the kitchen.  
  
Harry fished about in his jeans pockets. "I don't know exactly. All I know is that Galleons are large gold coins -- like this." He pulled one out of his right jeans pocket and handed it to Lucy, who looked at it for some time with an intensely apprasing eye.  
  
"It's real gold, all right," she said at last, handing the coin back to Harry. She broke into a wide, dazzling grin, picking up Harry and spinning him around the room once before planting a big, fat kiss on his cheek. "You have no idea how happy I am, Harry. This is the best day of my life, and almost certainly of Marcus'." She looked admiringly at Harry, and it was if the sun had come out from behind a cloud. "The Dursleys had told Marcus well in advance about what they painted as your 'insane belief in magic', apparently as part of their plot to blackmail Marcus into shunting you into some truly horrible funny farm. Neither of us had dreamed, until yesterday, that magic could be real, as real as a chair or a cat or a canteloupe. I can't wait to get a wand and some spell books and learn magic in earnest. I just hope that Muggle money can be exchanged for wizard money."  
  
An idea came to Harry. "Don't worry about that, Lucy," he answered, a subtle smile on his face. "I'll buy you your wand and whatever books you need."   
  
Lucy opened her mouth to protest, but Harry shook his head. "I've got a fortune in Galleons down in the vaults of Gringotts, the wizard bank," he told her. "It's the least I can do for you, what with you and Dr. Reader buying me my new clothes and things."  
  
"Oh, Harry..." Lucy was on the verge of tears, she was so happy. "You've got a gallant soul." And with that, she hugged him and spun him around again, much to his chagrin.  
  
  
  



	8. On Being in Law Enforcement

Lucy and Harry spent the rest of the morning practicing simple spells, and Lucy kept on amazing him with her untapped magical talents. Even without a wand, she was able to accomplish the Levitation and Summoning spells with a fair amount of skill. She even managed to summon Harry's Firebolt from twenty feet away, something unheard of for an untutored wizard.   
  
"I wonder if Voldemort should be more afraid of you than he is of me," said Harry, as they went inside the house for lunch.  
  
"He'd better learn to be afraid of me," Lucy replied with a grim certainty. "I used to be in law enforcement before I met Marcus. And I was darned good at it, even if I do say so myself." She opened up the refrigerator, then shut it again. "Would you like pizza, Harry? With or without anchovies?"   
  
"Yes, please. I've never had it with anchovies."  
  
Lucy gave Harry a particularly sweet smile. "That's one of my concessions to my past life. Marcus hasn't succeeded in eliminating all of my guilty pleasures, though he did insist that I learn to prepare pizza properly, with the cracker-like crust. Since he's not here, we can fix it for ourselves." Lucy crossed over to the counter and opened a flour tin, then poured some of the flour into a large Cuisinart. "Who takes care of law enforcement in the wizarding world, Harry?"  
  
"That's done by Aurors, on the orders of the Ministry of Magic. Frank Longbottom was an Auror, that's why he and his wife were attacked and tortured by the Death Eaters."  
  
"Is that so?", said Lucy, her face taking on a stern cast. "Harry, could you get the other Cuisinart from down below in that cabinet on your left? Thank you. You'll find a box of Roma tomatoes in the larder." She poured some yeast into a small bowl, then added lukewarm water. "We'll let that sit for ten minutes, so the yeast can activate." She took the tomatoes from Harry and put them in a colander, then put it into the kitchen basin and ran water over them to rinse them clean. "So how does one go about becoming an Auror, Harry?"  
  
"I don't know, for sure. I do know that it requires years of training and nerves of steel. It's a dangerous job."  
  
"Danger doesn't frighten me," Lucy said as she put a covered pot of water on the stove. "The most dangerous thing can be to do nothing." She added olive oil, salt and water to the flour in the large Cuisinart. "I found that out the hard way." She turned on the burner under the covered pot. "We'll boil this water, then drop the tomatoes in it to split their skins, it makes it much easier to peel them cleanly. In fact," she said, lifting out the tomato-filled colander in the sink, "we should let these chill in the fridge a few minutes, for this to work the best."  
  
"Let me get the door." Harry opened the refrigerator door for her, and got a glimpse of Lucy's left cheek. There was this interesting mole, high on her cheekbone, all black instead of brown like most moles. A bit of a classroom lecture by Professor Binns came back to him, one of the few Binns lectures during which he actually was awake: "....the French, Muggles and wizards alike, believe that a mole placed high on the cheek denotes courage..."  
  
Lucy set down the tomatoes, then pulled out some mushrooms and onions out of the crisper, along with a half pound of fresh anchovies. "Here, Harry, you can slice these on the cutting board over there. Use the knives in the block."   
  
She stepped back for a moment, just as the doorbell rang.   
  
Lucy quickly wiped her hands on a paper towel, then ran to the foyer. As always, she looked at the TV monitor before opening the door. What she saw gave her pause.  
  
"Harry," Lucy called out, "come here for a minute, please, and tell me if this is anyone you know."  
  
"What does he look like?", Harry asked tensely as he ran to join Lucy.  
  
"This", she replied, pointing at the monitor. The monitor showed a tall, filthy, black-haired man, dressed in ragged robes, thin to the point of emaciation.  
  
"It's Sirius!" Harry cried. "Let him in, it's okay! He's my godfather."  
  
There was a loud snick as Lucy undid the electronic lock. The door opened upon a man with hollow eyes and an expression prepared to be hostile, yet willing to be polite.   
  
"Good morning," he said, in a raspy voice. "My name is Sirius Black. I understand that you are caring for my godson, Harry Potter."  
  
Lucy looked up, politely yet fearlessly, into those haunted eyes. "You've come to the right place, Mr. Black. Won't you come inside? Harry and I are just starting to make lunch. Would you like some?"  
  
The ragged man smiled; Lucy had the sudden intuition that he hadn't done much in the way of smiling, or talking, for quite some time. "Why, yes, I would, Miss --"  
  
"Stellanova. Lucy Stellanova. Come right this way, Mr. Black," Lucy said.  
  
"Call me Sirius, please," said Sirius faintly as he stepped over the threshold.   
  
Or tried to.  
  
Lucy saw his eyes roll back in his head before his body even started to fall. She caught him in her arms and dragged him to a couch as a shocked Harry closed the door.  
  
"Harry, go into Dr. Reader's office and get his black briefcase, _quickly," _she said, putting Sirius into a comfortable position on the couch. Harry was speeding towards Reader's office before she'd finished speaking. "He's horribly malnourished. We need to inject some sustenance directly into his bloodstream, and fast."  
  
Harry was back within seconds with the briefcase, by which time Lucy had already rolled up the sleeve on Sirius's left arm and found an appropriate vein. Lucy opened the briefcase, found the hypo, found the right vial. She was soon injecting its contents into Sirius.  
  
"This should bring him round in about a minute or two, Harry," she said. "Go into the kitchen and bring me a glass of water for when he wakes up. We need to get fluids into him before he can tackle solid food."  
  



	9. Chicken Soup

(Author's Note: This will probably be the last chapter I add for a week or so. I'm going out of town for a few days. Again, I apologize for its being so short. Keep R/Ring and tell me what I should be doing! As always, JKR's characters are hers, Thomas Harris' characters are his, and only the plot and the assumed names are mine. CC)  
  
  
Sirius' eyes fluttered open slightly, then opened wide when he saw Lucy. Harry couldn't help grinning; Lucy's good looks were such that she could make a dead man sit up and take notice. He knelt by Lucy's side, handing her the water glass.  
  
"Don't try to move, don't try to speak," she urged Sirius, gently pressing her hand against his bony chest. "Just drink some water first."   
  
"What happ--"  
  
"Ah-ah-ahhh," she gently chided. "Drink first, then talk." She took a sip from the glass herself. "See? Not poisoned. It's okay." She placed her free hand under him, cradling his upper body; then she put the glass to his lips, slowly tilting it into his mouth, letting him have only a swallow's worth at first. When he had safely assimilated that, she gave him some more, little by little, until the glass was empty. His face began to regain some color, underneath the grime.  
  
Lucy gently placed Sirius back onto the couch. "Harry, stay here with your godfather. I'm going to heat up some chicken broth for him. That'll be ready faster than the pizza, and I want to see him put at least a pint of chicken soup inside him before we let him tackle the pizza in any event." She stood up and moved briskly into the kitchen.  
  
By now Sirius was strong enough to turn his head to follow her as she went. "You certainly know how to pick your guardians, Harry," he said appreciatively in a low voice, once he felt she was out of earshot. "Chicken soup instead of rats. A man could get used to this."  
  
"How did you know I was here?"  
  
"I overheard the Dursleys arguing about it last night. This morning I visited a public library and looked up Dr. Reader on the Internet. That's how I got the address."  
  
Harry was shocked. "You walked into a _library?_ Like_ this?_"  
  
Sirius gave a short bark of a laugh. "No, I actually had the brains to nick some Muggle clothes to wear, though it was a job, let me tell you." He sat up on the couch, flexing his arms and hands. "Took me two hours just to get the jeans."  
  
A bell sounded in the kitchen; Lucy had evidently used the microwave to heat up the broth. She came into the foyer, carrying both the soup in a mug and a small table. She set the table by Sirius and set the steaming mug on top of it. "Here you go. Drink it up, and in a little while we'll see about solid food for you. In the meantime, Harry will show you where the bathroom is, to freshen up and so forth, if you want to use it after it you're done with the chicken soup. The pizza won't be ready for some time yet." She gave him a friendly smile and bustled back into the kitchen.   
  
Sirius raised the mug to his lips, taking a tentative sip. "Mmmmm," he murmured in sheer pleasure. "She puts onion and garlic in her chicken soup. Delicious." He drained the mug dry, setting it down on the table with a sigh of satisfaction. He then pulled a sleeve up to his arm and sniffed it, wrinkling his nose as he did so.  
  
"Come on, Harry," he said, regaining his feet. "Show me the way to the bathroom. I can take a hint as well as the next man. Nurse Lucy is right, I could do with a good scrubbing."  
  
Harry grinned as he took Sirius' arm. "I'll wash and dry your robe for you while you soak. Follow me."  
  
  
  
Sirius spent quite a while in the upstairs bathroom. Harry watched over him most of the time, hovering like a hawk in case he fainted again. The only time Harry wasn't within arm's length of his godfather was when he took Sirius' robes down to the laundry room in the cellar; he used some gentle hand soap to wash Sirius' robes, then put them in the dryer on the "Delicate" cycle.  
  
"You missed Dumbledore by a few hours," Harry informed Sirius as his godfather stepped out of the shower. "He came to visit Dr. Reader this morning."  
  
"Really?", said Sirius, running his fingers through his hair, which still had some matting in it despite the best efforts of the shampoo from the Farmacia di Santa Novella. "What did he do?"  
  
"He came by to talk to Dr. Reader, and ended up taking him away for the day to St. Mungo's, to see if he could treat the Longbottoms."  
  
"Frank and Alice? The couple that the Death Eaters tortured?"  
  
"Yeah. Dumbledore thinks Reader can help them, and Reader thinks so, too. He certainly talked and acted as if he did."  
  
"So Dumbledore trusts your new guardians to that extent," mused Sirius as he toweled off himself. "Amazing."  
  
"That's not the half of it." Harry told Sirius about Lucy's having discovered herself to be a latent witch. "She's not only a witch, she's a very powerful one, though she doesn't have any training as yet. Dumbledore wants to start in on that with her as soon as he can. I think she wants to be an Auror."   
  
Sirius gazed off into space for a moment. "An Auror, eh? That ought to be very interesting," he said, smiling slightly. He pulled on a bathrobe, one of Dr. Reader's, that Harry had handed to him. "Very interesting, indeed."  
  



	10. Revelations

The smell of hot cheese and tomato sauce greeted Harry and Sirius as they made their way into the kitchen. Lucy was just putting the pizza on a wooden platter to cool as they entered; she had already set the table for three, complete with snow-white napery and sparkling crystal.  
  
"I'll let it cool for a minute or two so the cheese sets up and it's easier to cut," she said, wiping off her hands on a kitchen towel. "How are you doing, Sirius?"  
  
Sirius smiled a crooked smile. His eyes, much to Harry's delight, were lively and full of mischief, not haunted and vacant. "Much better, thank you. And, I trust, a good deal less offensive to both the eyes and the nostrils."  
  
Lucy made a derisive snort as she flicked the end of the kitchen towel at him.  
"Watch it, skinny, or I'll 'accidentally' confuse you with the pizza. I'm a dangerous woman, you know," she said faux-maniacally, brandishing a two-handled pizza cutter at Sirius while Sirius and Harry laughed. Sirius pretended to cower under Lucy's mock assault, whimpering most pathetically as he laughed.   
  
"Speaking of danger," Sirius said after a minute as Lucy got busy cutting up the pizza, "I want you to know that the reason I look like an escaped convict on the run is because I really _am_ an escaped convict on the run."  
  
Lucy stopped her cutting, turned to face Sirius, saw his serious expression. "You're not joking," she said. Her grip on the pizza cutter tightened a fraction.  
  
"No, I'm not." His voice was quiet, compelling.  
  
There was a few heartbeats' worth of silence before Lucy spoke.  
  
"Yet you wouldn't be telling me this if you really were a danger to me, to Harry or to Marcus," she said somewhat tautly. "Either you're the world's best actor, or you're getting something off your chest that you think I should know."  
  
"Lucy, don't worry," interrupted Harry. "I know all about it, and so does Dumbledore. Sirius was framed for betraying my parents and killing a few other people in the bargain. It wasn't until last year that the real murderer admitted to doing it, and that's not proof enough to free Sirius, so he has to stay on the run."  
  
Lucy's piercing gaze didn't leave Sirius for a second, though her grip on the pizza cutter relaxed slightly. "You'd better tell me everything," she said, in a carefully flat, neutral voice.   
  
Sirius and Harry, speaking in turn, told Lucy the whole story: How Sirius had trusted Peter Pettigrew with the secret of James and Lily's hiding place, only to find out that Pettigrew had betrayed them all and given them up to Voldemort, framing Sirius for the murders along the way. Lucy questioned both of them, searching for weak points in their stories, probing with such relentless finesse and firmness that Harry could well believe she had once been in Muggle law enforcement.  
  
At last Lucy relaxed. A small smile crossed her face. "Well, Mr. Black," she said as she returned to cutting the now-cooled pizza, "your story seems to hold up, and you have one very persuasive advocate in your corner." She placed the slices on a plate and put them in the microwave for a few seconds to reheat them. "But something tells me that you had another reason for telling me this story. Something tells me that you have your suspicions about me, or about Marcus, and by telling your secrets you hope to encourage me to reveal my own." She turned to face Sirius and Harry, waiting for comments.  
  
After a long, long moment, Sirius spoke. "I was at the Dursleys' place last night," he said, his tone fully a match for hers in gravity. "Not inside -- they never saw me -- but eavesdropping on the outside."  
  
Lucy's face was unreadable, it did not register fear or concern. "And how were you able to pass unnoticed?" she asked quietly.  
  
"By turning into this," said Sirius -- who then instantly assumed the form of a large black dog. His eyes still held Lucy's unwaveringly.  
  
"Dear God in Heaven," Lucy whispered.  
  



	11. Believing the Unbelievable

Lucy pulled out a chair and sat down; if she hadn't, she likely would have fallen down.   
  
"I don't believe it. It's happening, but I don't believe it." Her sky-blue eyes were fixed on Sirius in his dog-shape. "So much has happened, yesterday and today. I'm having a hard time believing it all, even when I'm actually casting the spells myself and seeing the results for myself."  
  
Sirius resumed his human form, so quickly that Lucy jumped slightly in her chair. "Harry told me that earlier today, Dumbledore had asked him to teach you some spells. Can you demonstrate one of them for me?"  
  
There was a long silence.   
  
Then, without speaking, Lucy turned and pointed at the pizza cutter, which she had set on the countertop. "_Accio!_", she said, and the cutter flew into her hand.  
  
There was another long silence, a silence that was making Harry increasingly nervous the longer it lasted.   
  
Sirius's dark eyes held Lucy's, as if he were silently asking her a question. She did not speak, but she didn't avoid his gaze, either.  
  
"I don't believe it," Sirius finally murmured, shaking his head. "You've never done magic, at all, until a few hours ago, and -- without a wand no less -- you just performed to perfection a spell that usually takes even advanced students days to master." He grinned as he ran his fingers through his tousled hair. "You are brave enough to stand up to an escaped convict. And you are quite skilled at forensic debate and questioning. You definitely have the makings of an Auror."  
  
Lucy put her fists on her hips in mock outrage, but both Harry and Sirius could tell she was secretly very pleased at hearing this. "Harry! Have you been talking to your godfather about me while I was down here slaving over a hot stove making pizza?"  
  
"Of course he has, Lucy," Sirius replied, sitting down at the table. "Reminds me: you keep promising to feed us that pizza --"  
  
"Yeah, the pizza!" chimed in Harry.  
  
Lucy rolled her eyes. "_Men!_" she said, as she brought the pizza to the table.   
  
The luncheon proceeded smoothly after that.   
  
While at the table, Lucy told Sirius and Harry about her Appalachian childhood, her family, and most especially her father. She talked of how he would always make time for her and her mother and brother and sister, even though his night watchman job for the county took him away from them much of the time. She even told them about his senseless death at the hands of drug addicts, which caused her mother to send her and her siblings off to orphanages until they were grown.   
  
She talked of how she got good grades, good enough to win scholarships to various colleges, and how she ended up taking a career in law enforcement as a way of succeeding where her daddy, stuck in his dead-end job as night watchman, had failed. But she abruptly left her job when her boss, married, powerful and untouchable, had started punishing her professionally for her refusal to become his mistress. She hooked up with Dr. Reader shortly after that, and found that she enjoyed working as a therapist for small children. What she left unsaid, but what both Harry and Sirius saw as plain as the nose on her face, was that she still hankered to fight the bad guys as an officer of the law.  
  
Sirius, in turn, told her about the wizarding world, and about his friendship with Harry's father and mother. He told her about his life in Azkaban, about the constant draining of spirit caused by the dementors, and how only his knowing he was innocent kept him alive for over a decade -- until he got wind of the whereabouts of Peter Pettigrew. His eyes became dead and vacant once again as he recounted the long dark stretch of years, filled with despair and little else, that made up his stay in the wizard prison. Lucy noticed this, and, alarmed, she instinctively put her hand, warm with comforting life, on his, for a brief moment; Sirius' eyes flickered in surprise, and the dead look left them, to be replaced by speculation.  
  
The kitchen phone rang. Lucy got up from the table and lifted the receiver. "Dr. Reader's residence," she said, using the same businesslike tone she used when answering the phone at the Harley Street office. Her face suddenly brightened. "Marcus! Darling, how are you? Where are you? Oh, I see." She leaned against the kitchen counter, sticking her thumb in a belt loop on her jeans, looking like James Dean's little sister. "No, that's not a problem. Do you need me to send you anything?" There was a long pause as she listened intently. "Oh, all right. Excellent! _Excellent!_" Lucy's face was wreathed in smiles. "Harry will be so happy to hear it! Oh, by the way, we have another guest, a friend" -- Lucy was careful not to say "godfather"; she was fairly sure the phone wasn't being tapped, but one never knew -- "of Harry's. I'm not sure how long he'll be staying with us. I'll have the other bedroom ready if need be. Take care, darling. Goodbye!"   
  
She hung up the phone, her face shining. "Marcus is going to stay at St. Mungo's overnight. He called from a nearby Muggle psychiatric hospital; Dumbledore took him there so he could get more antipsychotics and antianxiety drugs for the Longbottoms."  
  
"How are they doing?" Harry asked, his voice laden with hope and anxiety.  
  
"They're lucid and responding to treatment, though somewhat weak and fragile mentally as yet," Lucy replied happily. "Neville and his grandmother have already visited them, and talked with them."  
  
Harry's heart was in his mouth; he had to fight to keep from crying for sheer joy. "And -- they recognized him?"  
  
"They certainly did," beamed Lucy. "Marcus is going to keep them on olanzapine and bromazepam until he gets them used to the idea of being sane again. People who've been psychotic for a long time get used to being insane, to the point where it's often very difficult to get them out of that rut and keep them out of it. The trick is to correct the chemical imbalance in their brains, and to push them into the rut of sanity."  
  
Sirius was awed. "Dr. Reader is undoing the aftereffects of a Cruciatus Curse, using Muggle methods alone?"   
  
"Yupper," Lucy said, her face glowing. "And what's more, once he gets them stablized mentally, he's going to fix it so that no one will ever again be able to use a Cruciatus Curse against them."  
  
"How can he do _that_?" both Sirius and Harry asked, disbelievingly.  
  
"By showing them the art of the memory palace," replied Lucy, sitting back down at the table.   
  
"'Memory palace'?" said Sirius skeptically. "The ancient mnemonic device?"   
  
"Yes. Except that the memory palace isn't just an aid to memory. A really well-built memory palace is like a moated fortress for the mind. One can spend time roaming its corridors with the utmost content, even while the outer self is writhing under the nastiest tortures." Lucy's smiling gaze took in both of her hearers. "Marcus and I both know this from experience, and there is ample literature on the subject as well."   
  
Lucy took a sip of her Chianti as Sirius and Harry looked on, rapt. "I would bet the farm that, inside of two weeks, Marcus will not only have both the Longbottoms right as rain, but that Mr. Longbottom will be able to resume his career as an Auror." Her face had a fierce, warrior's glow about it. "Two souls that Voldemort thought he'd destroyed will soon be back to fight him."  
  
  
  



	12. When Magic is Not an Option

(For those folks wondering about how Lucy could get away with owning certain things in the UK: Note that this is the summer of 1995. The items she owns are perfectly legal and will remain so for another two years. CC)  
  
  
  
It was a happy, busy afternoon at Offhand Manor.   
  
Sirius, now that he and Lucy had made the decision to trust each other, insisted on putting her through her magical paces, going over the spells Harry had already taught her, and adding some new offensive and protective spells to her arsenal. Harry watched as Sirius critiqued her form with a razor-sharp eye; his godfather, he realized, was an exacting yet fair taskmaster. And Lucy understood this, and drank in everything Sirius had to say with unwavering attention.   
  
Harry also noticed that the adult seriousness with which she treated Sirius and his teachings had extended to her behavior around Harry; it was as if she, who spent much of her working day around small children, was suddenly made aware by Sirius' presence that Harry himself was no longer a child, but in fact a young man, with all that that implied. There would be no more wild, unannounced huggings from her, Harry sensed.  
  
At last even Sirius, whose bulldog tenacity was countered somewhat by his still feeling the aftereffects of his near-starvation, had had enough. They sat in the study, drinking Chianti and noshing on some crackers, which were laden with pesto that Lucy had whipped together in the kitchen.  
  
"You move with the speed of a cobra," Sirius said between mouthfuls of pesto and cracker. He was eating the lion's share, with Lucy's and Harry's full approval and encouragement. "Faster than any non-magical human I've ever seen."  
  
"You think this is a byproduct of my being a witch?" Lucy asked.  
  
"Almost certainly," Sirius replied.  
  
Lucy sipped at her Chianti and considered this for a moment. "That would explain a few things about myself."  
  
"In what way?"  
  
"I've always been able to move faster than other people -- not just physically, I can sense things faster, make mental connections faster. And I've always wondered why I was stronger than every other woman I knew. I have a grip strength of 90 kg, I can easily shoot a Colt .45 semiautomatic pistol one-handed; even a few of the men I knew needed to use both hands. And I can use the true Weaver stance when shooting, where most women my size and height need to use the locked-arm Isoceles stance."  
  
Harry was astounded; like most Britons, Muggle or wizard, he had never known anyone who owned guns of any sort, much less handguns. But then he remembered: "This was part of your law enforcement job in America?"  
  
Lucy nodded. "UK policemen don't carry guns, but American cops have to. We'd be dead in two seconds if we didn't. Which reminds me," she said as she stood up and retrieved the now-empty cracker tray and plates, "I owe you both for the magic lesson you gave me today." She looked at Harry's godfather appraisingly. "Sirius, how are you feeling right now?"  
  
"Quite well, thank you." He studied her face narrowly. "What do you have in mind?"  
  
"Let me drop this off in the kitchen, and then follow me downstairs," she said. "You're giving me magic training, it's only right I should give you both firearms training."   
  
Harry half-rose from his chair. "_Firearms_ training? Are you serious?"  
  
"Dead serious, Harry." She looked at them both with a stern, grim face. "The people who are after you don't play nice, and as you yourself have said, you can't always use magic in the Muggle world to defend yourself, not unless you want to spend your life doing Memory Charms. There will be times when you'll need to be able to disarm -- or kill -- your attackers, and if you can't use your magic, you'll have to use something else, be it gun, knife or whatever."  
  
Harry looked at her and had a sudden intuition: _Lucy has shot and killed humans_. He shivered at the thought: it was so unlike his mental image of the soft-and-cuddly Miss Stellanova.   
  
Lucy must have seen his shiver, for her visage softened a bit. "The evil you know is somehow less scary than the powerful force you don't know, eh, Harry?" She smiled, and was gratified to see both Harry's and Sirius' faces relax a touch. "You're already familiar with the Unforgivable Curses, right? How are guns worse than those? Besides," she said, leaning against the chair she had just vacated, "it sounds as if your foes may not know how to deal with guns themselves. Best to get the drop on them, any way we can -- especially if they're not expecting you to know how to handle a firearm."  
  
Sirius looked at Lucy with a quizzical expression on his face. "And me?"  
  
"You, too, Sirius. Wizard or not, I'll feel a lot better about you roaming around eating rats and dodging Death Eaters and such if I know you have one of my Colts strapped to either your hip or your ankle, and you know how to use it."  
  
  
  
  
The cellar of Offhand Manor was a spacious affair, housing several large rooms in addition to the laundry room. One of the rooms was a long, narrow one which Lucy used as a shooting gallery. Lucy, Sirius and Harry stood by a small table at one end of the room. The other end held nothing, save for the cardboard silhouette of a man on the wall.  
  
The table was laden with various devices: guns, knives, and a host of other objects whose function was not immediately apparent. Harry's heart gave a lurch as he stared at the table. He had never willlingly gone near so many items of deadly force, Muggle or magical, in his entire life.  
  
Lucy pointed to the guns, which were by themselves on a corner of the table. "Rule Number One: Always Treat A Gun As If It Were Loaded. I can't tell you how many times someone just tossed a supposedly empty gun around, only to have it prove them wrong in a bad way." She demonstrated how to safely check the magazine, then set the gun back down. "Any questions?" she asked. Both Harry and Sirius shook their heads. Nodding in acknowledgement, she proceeded to the next part of her lesson.  
  
Lucy picked up three pairs of very small semi-cylindrical objects, partly foam rubber and partly metallic. She gave a pair each to Harry and Sirius, then took the remaining pair and put them in her ears; Harry and Sirius followed suit.   
  
"I invented this style of earplug, with the help of Dr. Reader," Lucy said. "It's activated by the oncoming pressure wave generated by the bullet as it leaves the gun. The plug automatically shuts tight to protect the eardrum, then opens back up when the wave has dissipated. This way one can still shoot and do other things, such as carry on a conversation or hear someone sneaking up behind you." She watched their faces to see if they were paying attention to her. They were. "The earplugs are necessary because the report from a Colt .45 registers at over 150 decibels, which is loud enough to permanently damage your hearing, especially in the 6000 Hertz range. The plugs will tamp the noise down to about 50 decibels, well within the safe range for humans."   
  
Lucy picked up a gun from the table. "This is the Colt Mark Four Government Model .45 caliber semi-automatic pistol," she said in a precise, even tone; Harry guessed that she'd taught this sort of thing many times before. "It weighs 2.9 pounds when empty, holds seven rounds of ammunition in the magazine plus one in the chamber should you choose, has an effective range of fifty meters, and can knock you unconscious if you don't manage its recoil properly. Let me show you what I mean by that."   
  
Gun in hand, Lucy turned to squarely face the target on the opposite wall. She placed both hands on the Colt, braced herself with her whole upper body leaning forward, and held the gun with her arms locked straight out in front of her at eye level. "This is the Isoceles stance," she said, her voice still in that same semi-soothing, semi-monotonous instructional tone. "It's the stance that we all instinctively tend to take under duress when shooting a gun two-handed, regardless of what we've been taught. Here we go."  
  
Lucy pulled the trigger; a loud bang ensued; and the recoil sent her hands to pointing towards the ceiling. A hole made itself visible in the head of the silhouette, right above the spot where the eyes would be. "Any questions?"  
  
Sirius and Harry remained silent.  
  
Lucy allowed herself a small chuckle. "C'mon, guys, be serious but don't be overly anxious. The key to being a good shooter is to respect the gun, not to fear it." She set the gun back down on the table. "You'll notice that the isoceles stance doesn't control the gun's recoil very well at all, at least not in a situation where you need to be able to recover quickly and shoot again. This is why, whenever possible and when you have time to think clearly enough to utilize it, you should use either the true Weaver stance, or the modified Weaver stance, or Chapman stance as it's usually called."   
  
Lucy picked up the gun again. "To use either the Weaver or the Chapman stance, you turn sideways, putting the dominant side of your body -- for all three of us, that'll be the right side -- back, like so." Lucy assumed the stance she just described. "This braces you so you can absorb the recoil without losing the target. Now, for the Chapman stance, which is what I'm going to show you right now, you put your dominant side's arm -- your shooting arm -- straight out and hold it straight out, while your weak side's arm is bent, like this. Now watch." She fired again, and this time the gun barely moved in her hands. "See what I mean? With the Chapman, you have much better control, which enables you to pull off more shots, and more accurate shots, in a shorter amount of time -- like this." She reeled off five shots in rapid succession, emptying the magazine. Every single shot wound up in the forehead of the target silhouette.   
  
"Did you see the difference?", she asked as she lowered the gun. "With the isoceles, I could barely get off a shot every second -- and only the first shot would likely be accurate. With the Chapman, I can keep the gun relatively steady so that I don't have to waste time recovering my fix on the target." Lucy went over to the table and cleared the magazine from the pistol while Sirius and Harry watched like twin hawks; they couldn't have torn their eyes away even if they'd wanted to.  
  
Lucy inserted a fresh magazine. "All right, which one of you wants to go first?"  
  
"I will," Sirius said. His eyes glittered; whether it was with apprehension or intensity, Harry wasn't sure.   
  
Sirius stepped forward and held out his right hand. Lucy handed him the pistol.   



End file.
